They Actually Gave Us A Ship?
by Shuggie
Summary: The USS Enterprise. Starfleet gave a flagship to a bunch of kids. Sequel to They Actually Recruited Us? Same ideas, but now everyone's graduated and on the Enterprise.
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone. First I would like to say thank you so much to everyone who's been reading _They Actually Recruited Us? _You've all been so wonderful and positive, and I've really needed that for the past couple of days. Sincerely, thank you.

Here's the second installment of this series. Obviously, the first one was about when everyone's still at the Academy. This one's on the Enterprise. So now they're getting into space shenanigans. Yay. I hope yall like these as much as the other ones. I think I'll still be updating the Academy one as fun ideas come. Just a quick warning, all the posted Academy chapters had pretty much been all written before I started posting, which was why there were several chapters uploaded a day. Updates will be slower now, but I hope I don't lose interest in this series any time too soon. It's fun.

And since I didn't do it in the last story, here's a disclaimer: Any quotes that you recognize as being from a movie or television series belong to the respective writers of that movie/show. Anything you recognize from TFLN came from that site. Anything else is an original scenario (aka something inspired by my time in college aka the dumb things my friends and I do when we go out).

Enjoy!

* * *

Sometimes, Jim Kirk lay awake during the night cycle, staring up at the ceiling of his quarters and wondering just what in the hell the admiralty of Starfleet was smoking.

Even at twenty-five years old, Jim had an ego large enough that he wasn't entirely surprised that he had been officially promoted to the rank of captain, but they had given him the _Enterprise_. The God damned _USS Enterprise_! She was the shining star of the Federation's armada. And they had given her to him. Then, in their next pot-induced adventure, the admiralty had let him pick his own crew. Of course, he chose every single one who had been there during the whole _Narada_ thing, filling in the gaps carefully. His crew was excellent, if a bit young.

But Jim trusted these people. They had followed him the brink and back. They were good people. And his senior staff was beyond. He had Bones running medical, just like he'd been telling the doctor for years. He had Uhura—he knew her name now—and Gaila. He had Scotty (and his fantastic hooch), Sulu and that cute little Chekov kid. He even had Spock. Everything was perfect.

The ship was only a couple of weeks into the mission. The last time they had all been together had been a time of great mourning. Vulcan had been destroyed, along with a near generation of Starfleet talent. Jim felt all of that loss personally. He had spent months during debriefings, memorial ceremonies, and preparations for the five-year mission beating himself up for not doing more, for not acting fast enough. A part of Jim would continue to mourn all those lives that had been lost for the rest of his life, but he recognized that it was time to move on.

His crew had bonded over the shared tragedy, over surviving when their friends had not. Now they needed to bond on a different level, on a friendly level, where they could recall memories with smiles rather than tears. And Jim couldn't think of any better way than laser tag.

It was a small hell trying to get Bones and Spock to agree, thus rounding up personnel from the Sciences. Scotty and Sulu, bless their souls, were all for it, and helped with recruiting. Uhura agreed after Gaila made pouting faces, and soon enough, Jim had nearly all the crew signed up and ready to play.

It was far too soon into the mission to dig into the shore leave package, so Jim devised a cunning plan to fool any brass who asked why they were in orbit over the colony planet Rudon. Jim wouldn't be able to lie about where they were down on the planet, but twisting the reasoning wouldn't hurt anyone.

"No one in the entire universe would really think that you're seriously using this as combat training for the crew," Bones grumbled as he dropped behind a barricade to sit by Jim.

"What are you doing over here," Jim asked. "You're supposed to be with your team."

"Jim, this is stupid," the doctor continued. "You've got us holed up in a damned kiddy play place! Joanna's too big for this."

"Okay, one, you are never too old for laser tag," Jim said. Over his shoulder, Sulu nodded sagely. "Second, I know it's probably shoved up there good and tight, but try to take that stick out of your ass for a few minutes and have some fun. I mean, Christ, _Spock_ is playing."

Bones arched a brow, clearly unimpressed by Jim's arguments. Jim resisted the urge to stick his tongue out. Last time he did that, Bones had grabbed it. Well, Bones could grumble and pout like a big baby for all Jim cared—like that wasn't his default emotion anyway—this was going to be fun. And so what if the laser tag was at a kiddy play place, and so what if the owner, recognizing Jim's face from all the holonews feeds, had practically fallen over himself to offer the place for the crew's private use for the evening. So what.

"Look, Bones, it's a good set up. I mean, we're all split up into teams, we've got leaders, and we've even got an enemy." The teams were all divided by the basic tracks of Command, Science, and Operations, excluding one rag-tag team that was playing the part of the "enemy Klingons". The _Enterprise_ teams were all set up, waiting for the upcoming raid.

"It's juvenile," Bones said.

Jim huffed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a packet of bubble gum. He offered some to Bones, but his friend merely curled him lip in disgust. "Suit yourself," Jim said, shoving a large wad into his mouth. "Won't be long now," he said, lowering his voice in his best—absolutely terrible—imitation of Bones's accent. "Not long t'all."

"You said that almost an hour ago," Bones complained. "Those morons are probably playing in the God damned ball pit." He paused for a moment. "Why are you trying to speak with a Southern accent?"

"It's the chaw, boy," Jim said, shoving all the gum down in front of his bottom teeth, imitating dip. Hefting up his gun, he leaned over towards Bones, ready to depart words of wisdom in the calm before the battle. "Nobody can predict the twisted mind of the Klingon. But they're coming. And they're coming hard. Their ain't gonna come polite. They ain't gonna be ringing no doorbell."

As soon as he said it, there was the sound of chimes from the front of the room, signifying someone trying to get into the play place. At the sound, everyone ducked down behind their cover, some letting out startled yelps. Jim wiggled until he had flipped onto his stomach, peeking through a hole in the wall. He grabbed his comm. and, still using that ridiculous accent, said, "Doorbell! Doorbell! We've got doorbell. We're on high alert. Gold Team is go. Blue leader?"

There was a slight crackling noise—Jim had confiscated all of his senior staff's comms and tweaked them to sound like old twentieth century walkie talkies—and Spock's voice said, _"Blue team is ready and awaiting further instruction, Captain."_

"Red team," Jim asked.

There was silence on the other end.

"Red team," Jim asked a bit more frantically, and Bones rolled his eyes.

The static crackled, and Scotty said, _"I ordered a pizza."_

From several positions throughout the room, crewmembers groaned at the let down. People fell into easier positions, tossing their guns onto the ground. Jim hung his head for a brief second before activating his comm. again and broadcasting, "And we all learned a lesson: PACK A SNACK."

He dropped the comm. and fished around in his pockets. He pulled out a credit chip and slapped it into Chekov's hand. "Here, go get the pizza."

Chekov stared up at Jim, eyes wide. "But what if it's the Klingons," he asked, nervous as though this were a real life or death situation. Bones let out a humorless bark of laughter and buried his face in a hand.

Jim arched a brow, offered the kid a smile and said, "Then tip them poorly. Get going." As Chekov shimmied over the barricade, Jim muttered into the comm., "That had better be meat lover's, Scotty."


	2. Chapter 2

Sulu was glad that he had been assigned the _Enterprise_. He was even more pleased that Jim Kirk had picked him for the new crew. Because really, where else was he going to find a captain that not only tolerated his adrenaline junkie schemes but participated in them?

After their first stunt, which had involved an old fashioned dirt bike and resulted in several broken bones, Sulu had been prepared to give up on the rush forever. Dr. McCoy was a scary son of a bitch. But Jim was his best friend, which, according to Jim, gave him clearance to do whatever he wanted because, as previously stated, his best friend was a doctor. And it wasn't like McCoy was going to _not _patch them up.

Yeah, he'd patch them up, but he was really mean when he did it.

When Sulu and Jim limped into the medical bay, McCoy was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest and face twisted in irritation. He looked every bit the aggravated parent about to scold the misbehaving children. Sulu had the decency to hunch his shoulders and lower his gaze in shame. Jim, on the other hand, waltzed in as best as his twisted ankle would allow and called, "Hiya, Bones."

"What did you do this time," McCoy growled through his teeth, his accent slightly more noticeable as he pushed Jim onto a biobed and pointed forcefully at another, gesturing for Sulu to sit there.

"Let's just say that no one should ever give us hovercrafts," Jim said.

McCoy picked up a hypospray, stabbing Jim in the neck with it even as the captain tried to squirm away. Jim rubbed his neck, cursing under his breath. McCoy glared at him. "I already know that you're insane," he said, and then glanced over at Sulu. "What's your excuse?"

Sulu looked up at the doctor with wide eyes. He didn't trust that new hypo that the doctor was holding. Although he had to admit, he'd never seen McCoy stab anyone else with a hypo the way he did to Jim. "Captain's orders," Sulu tried. Jim grinned largely, and McCoy slapped him upside the head.


	3. Chapter 3

The first opportunity they had for a shore leave wasn't really a shore leave. In between specific missions, they were in orbit over the planet Hofner. Jim had given permission for crewmembers to beam down to the planet to take a load off while they weren't on shift. He too planned to take full advantage of the situation and get into a bar. Gaila, Sulu and Bones were right behind him.

It was Gaila who brought up the pressing concern. "Pavel is not yet of age. He can't go down with us." Gaila, having fallen in love with his bouncing curls and wide eyes, had adopted Chekov and was woe to go on such an adventure without him. Sulu agreed.

"We need to get him a fake," the pilot said.

"You know, it really is a load of crap that the kid had a hand in saving the universe and he can't get into a bar," Bones mused.

Jim got to work right away. Really, it wasn't difficult at all to make a fake ID card. In no time flat, he had it printed out and in Chekov's hands. He sat the young prodigy down in one of the rec rooms. "Ok, Chekov, you need to memorize every aspect of that card. No offense, but you look like a baby."

"Yes, Gaila tells me this often," Chekov said, returning the grin Gaila gave him. Normally he was a little off put when people—especially those who had gotten to know him—continued to judge him on his young age, but it was very difficult to remain angry with Gaila.

"Right," Jim continued. "Well, while we here on the _Enterprise _do not card, the bouncers down on the plant will."

"Buzzkill," Sulu said with a sad shake of his head. Gaila, Jim, and even Bones nodded solemnly.

"So memorizing that won't be a problem for you," Jim said. "Just when you hand them the card, you've got to be confident. That's you and don't let anyone tell you different." Chekov nodded confidently. "Right, men and lone woman, we meet at the transporter room tomorrow at sixteen-hundred. Wear civvies."

There was a bit of a scuffle trying to get into the bar, but they eventually prevailed. Jim jumped on an empty table and ordered a round of shots. "To Chekov getting into a bar," he toasted, and they all threw back their drinks. They had another round before Gaila skipped off to the dance floor with Chekov, returning for Jim and some nostalgic grinding a bit later.

They had more and more shots, the number of them being vodka steadily increasing. Jim was blinking rapidly, his eyes crossing and uncrossing. Sulu was swaying in his seat. Bones was leaning back heavily, and Gaila had given up trying to stay upright and had taken up residence on his shoulder.

It was, of all people, Chekov who was still calling for more. "Dude—dude, seriously," Jim asked as another shot glass was placed before him. "Like, where are you putting it all?"

"Keptin, I am from Russia," Chekov said, his speech only slightly thicker. "What do you think we do in the winter months?" Gaila snorted, and Bones could totally get where the kid was coming from. It was like Georgia, but the opposite. Summer was hot. Alcohol needed ice.

No one protested Chekov's claims of victory in the contest none of them had been aware they were having. Still chipper, Chekov bounced back off to the dance floor, leaving his comrades behind to attempt to stay in their chairs.

At 0200, the lights came on and bouncers began herding people out. "Has anyone seen Pavel in the past, like, two hours," Sulu asked.

Jim scanned the crowd, but couldn't pinpoint the familiar head of curls. "Well, he's a little guy. Maybe we should check under the chairs."

Enlisting the help of a bouncer, the searched the bar. Cheerfully, from where she had been thrown over Bones's shoulder, Gaila chirped, "This is like the Terran game Hide-and-Seek, yes?"

"Sure is, darlin'," Bones said.

"And we are _it_," she said in delight. "I like to be _it._ I do not know what _it_ is, but I like _it._"

They finally found the kid curled up behind the bar, using an empty vodka handle as a pillow. The bartender was extremely perplexed as to how he had gotten back there undetected. "Kid's sneaky," Sulu commented.

"That's a Ruskie for you," Bones said.

"What, do you live in the 1950s," Jim asked, motioning Sulu over to help him drag Chekov outside.

Chekov jarred awake, and as they brought him out from the bar, he began to lament the loss of his beloved handle of vodka before bursting into a song on national pride—or at least Jim thought he did. It was all in Russian.


	4. Chapter 4

The first time they discovered the effects of chocolate on a Vulcan was an educational experience. It was late into Gamma shift—nearly 0300—and Bones was asleep in his quarters. It had been a fairly uneventful day, one that he had spent locked in his office to catch up on paperwork. It certainly wasn't strenuous work, but it was boring as hell. Shift had ended, and he let Jim drag him down to the mess for dinner.

They had then gone back to Jim's rooms to enjoy a nice bourbon, and Bones had managed to make it back to his own room to fall asleep. And that's where he was, curled up with mild content under his comforter, dreaming of warm summer days, oak trees, and mint juleps.

Then his door chimes sounded.

Bones snorted awake. The chimes sounded again. Well, it wasn't Jim. Jim hadn't rang the bell or knocked since their second month at the Academy. At the third chime, Bones figured it was something important. Nobody on the ship was dumb enough to disturb him this late at night for anything less. He slipped out of his bed, snapping, "Coming, hold your horses." He fished around for a shirt and opened the door.

He was surprised to find Nyota standing there. She was tugging at the sleeves of her robe, and she looked so much smaller and less dangerous wearing fuzzy slippers rather than her usual boots. "Nyota, it's three in the morning. What's wrong, darlin'," he asked.

"It's Spock," she said, brows furrowed. "I—I don't really know what's wrong with him."

Bones stepped back into his room, grabbed his medical kit, and slipped into a pair of house shoes. "Your rooms or his," he asked, joining her in the hall.

"His," Nyota said, and they set off for the lifts. "It's the strangest thing, Leonard. I—I would almost swear to you that he was drunk, but he doesn't get drunk. Alcohol doesn't affect his system. And he didn't have any today."

"When did this start," Bones asked.

"This evening, I guess" she said. "We ate dinner as usual, and we went back to his quarters for the night. Like I said, usual evening. We both did some work, meditated. My sisters sent me a box of fine chocolates for my birthday, and he'd never had it before, so we shared them. And you know he doesn't need as much sleep as I do, so I went to bed, and he said he was going to sit up and read a bit. I woke up about twenty minutes ago when he knocked over a stack of PADDs and started giggling about it."

Bones stopped short. "Giggling," he asked warily.

Nyota nodded. "I know," she said, her tone mirroring his. "I thought it was weird too. And he was sort of swaying, and his speech was off. If it was anyone else, I would swear to you he was wasted."

"Well, we'll see," Bones said. When they got to the door of Spock's quarters, Nyota punched in the code, and they went inside. It was disturbingly quiet. As far as they could tell, there was no one in the room.

"Spock," Nyota called. There was no answer. She ventured into the bathroom, but that too was empty. Bones checked under the desk, but there was no sign of him anywhere.

"These the chocolates," Bones asked, motioning towards a box on the desk.

"Yes," Nyota said, stepping over. She stopped short and gaped. "He ate them all! Those were my birthday present!"

"You should kick his ass," Bones suggested, not bothering to disguise his glee.

"Oh, I'm going to," she said, tone promising death. She marched over to the computer and firmly said, "Computer, locate First Officer Spock."

The computer responded, _"First Officer Spock is in the kitchen."_

Nyota and Bones shared a confused glance. "What the hell's he doing in there," Bones asked.

Nyota shook her head. "I don't know. Let's go get him." They made their way down to the mess hall, and from there they could hear the sounds of someone filtering about in the kitchen. They opened the door, and there Spock was, stumbling around and digging through drawers. A pot was sitting on the stove, heating some unknown substance.

"Spock," Nyota asked.

He turned his head sharply towards them, and his ears twitched oddly. He made a face that on any other drunken fool would have been a wide grin. "Nyota, doctor, welcome to the culinary preparation unit of the ship," he greeted.

"What are you doing down here," Nyota asked.

"I suddenly found myself struck with hunger. Logically, the only course of action was to come and prepare a meal for sustenance," he answered. "You are quite welcome to join me."

"Spock, really, it's pretty late," Nyota said. "Wouldn't you rather just come back to bed?"

"No," Spock said, and his tone reminded Bones very strongly of Joanna when she wanted to stay up past bedtime. "I am hungry."

He returned to his search of the drawers, and Nyota turned to Bones, motioning to the Vulcan as if to say "Told you so." Bones just shrugged. Drunk was the only word that he could think of to describe how Spock was acting.

"It's the chocolate," he said.

"What," she asked.

"Chocolate was the only thing abnormal about the day for him, right," he asked, and she nodded. "Well, we already knew that alcohol doesn't impair him, but apparently chocolate does. Vulcans aren't too much on losing control of themselves, so I'm sure they didn't really have a lucrative chocolate industry on the planet. You said Spock had never had chocolate before. He probably didn't know it would do anything to him."

"So, Vulcans get drunk on chocolate," she asked.

"So it would seem," he answered.

She was quiet for a moment before she let out a small noise that was a cross between a snort and a giggle. "Really," she asked, biting down on her bottom lip to keep from grinning. "_Really?_"

There was suddenly a loud hiss and rush of steam from the stove. Spock jumped over, lifting the lid from the pot and using his body to block their view of the stove. He was still for a moment before peeking over his shoulder at them. "What was that," Nyota asked.

"Nothing of concern," Spock said quickly.

"Did you just boil water over," Bones asked.

"No," he said firmly. "I no longer wish to continue on this topic of conversation." This time, both Nyota and Bones snorted.

It was some time later that they finally were able to drag Spock back to his quarters where he promptly passed out. Perhaps meanly—Bones in revenge for being awoken so late and Nyota in revenge for him eating her birthday present—they decided not to inject him with a hangover cure. Really, Bones wasn't sure the hypo would work anyway. It was designed with liquor in mind, not chocolate. And maybe now that they had seen a drunk Vulcan, they wanted to see what a hungover one would do. So sue them. Curiosity wasn't a crime.

The next morning, Bones received a call from Nyota as he was getting dressed. She asked him to wait for her before going down to get breakfast. Bones agreed. Jim wouldn't protest too much about him being late. It would only give him more time to sneak in a few extra strips of bacon while the doctor wasn't there to scold him.

As they walked down to the mess, Nyota told Bones all about how Spock had woken up while she was getting ready for the day and the absolute mess he had been. "Pitiful," she said. "You know, for him. For us, it would be like a mild case of the Mondays."

Collecting their food, they sat down across the table from Jim, who had hastily shoved two pieces of bacon into his mouth at the sight of them approaching. "I saw that, Jim," Bones said.

Cheeks still a bit full, Jim whined, "Bones, where have you been? Shift's about to start. You look tired. You too, Uhura." He mouthed the word baggies and pointed under his eye. She frowned at him.

"We got woken up in the middle of the night," Bones said.

"We," Jim asked. "What happened?"

"Spock happened," Nyota said, her lips twitching upwards.

Jim looked vastly confused and slightly disturbed. And because his head sometimes lived in the gutter, Bones could only imagine the wild scenarios that Jim was running through. "He'll probably be late getting up to the bridge today," Bones said.

"He probably won't be at his usual efficiency either," Nyota remarked.

"Okay, I'm almost scared to ask," Jim said, "but, seriously, what happened?"

"Spock ate a box of chocolate," Bones said, and Jim just arched a brow and made a questioning motion with his hands. "Fun fact," Bones continued, "chocolate gets Vulcans drunk."

Jim sat back, expression blank and eyes darting back and forth between Bones and Nyota, expecting one of them to crack at any second and tell him how they were just joking. Neither made any indication. "Pull the other one," he said.

"Oh, it's true," Nyota said. "He snuck out of his room at oh-three-hundred last night to make macaroni and cheese in the kitchens. We tried to get him to go back to bed, and what was it that he told us, Leonard?"

"And I quote," Bones said, "_'Retreat away from my personal space, you cannot comprehend the intricacies of my life'._"

Jim stared at them. "Wait, wait," he said bringing up his hands. "Are you tell me that Spock got wasted on chocolate, made easy mac at three in the morning, proceeded to tell you to get the fuck back because you don't know his life, and no one saw fit to come find me?"

"That sounds pretty accurate," Nyota said.

"That's bullshit," Jim cried, and continued to rant about it all the way up to the bridge. And when Spock did managed to make it up, his feet shuffling ever so slightly and his shoulders hunched just so as he sat and stared at his console with narrowed eyes, Jim gave up all pretenses, cross his arms, drooped in his seat and pouted.


	5. Chapter 5

Bones wasn't entirely sure how or why Jim came up with the idea to have a Mardi Gras celebration—other than the fact that Mardi Gras encompassed all that was debauchery and Jim loved debauchery. All Bones really knew was that he walked into Jim's ready room one afternoon and Jim was up to his elbows in yellow, green, and purple streamers and wearing at least sixty strands of beads.

He didn't bother contemplating where Jim had gotten ahold of these things.

"God, no," Bones moaned.

"Oh, yes," Jim cried happily. What do you think, Bones?" He shoved a PADD under Bones's nose. "The mask with the feathers, the glitter, or both?" Bones was trying just to adjust to the crazy amount of frill on the masks when Jim scrolled down the screen and cried, "NO WAY! This one's got all of them! And sequins!"

Bones shuddered. "Ok," Jim continued. "I'm getting it. Don't worry, Bones, I'll get you a mask too. They'll come in early so you can try them on to make sure they don't overpower your small head." Before Bones could protest, Jim said, "So, you're from the South. You're going to be my Mardi Gras council or something."

"What makes you think I know anything about Mardi Gras," Bones asked. Jim just stared at him. "Ok, so up until the divorce, I went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras every year since I was six."

"That's what I thought," Jim said. "And since alcohol is your specialty, you can come up with lots of good Southern drinks."

Jim was quick to spread the word about his massive Mardi Gras party. Everyone was excited, even Spock, although his interest was more about observing a new human custom. Of course, Bones was sure the subtleties of Mardi Gras hadn't yet been explained to him.

It seemed like almost everyone was helping with the planning and preparations. Jim and Bones were sitting down to lunch just a few days before the big party when Sulu and Chekov ran up to their table. Both stood there grinning like fools until Jim said, "Mr. Sulu, Mr. Chekov, is there something we can help you with?"

"We have an idea, Keptin," Chekov said excitedly.

"OK, get this, Jim," Sulu said. "We want to make a Mardi Gras tradition called the King Cake." Bones arched a brow. "Basically, you bake a plastic baby into the cake, and whoever gets the slice with it, has a lucky year."

Bones and Jim exchanged confused glances, and Bones was just about to open his mouth to ask what they were smoking when Chekov produced from behind his back a baby doll that was nearly life sized. It looked like so many of the dolls that Bones had bought for Joanna when she was younger.

Jim stared at the doll with wide eyes as the implications of the size of the cake formed in his head and declared, "Do it!" Sulu and Chekov high fived and ran off into the kitchen.

As soon as Alpha shift ended on Tuesday, there was a tangible vibe in the air. The ship's largest rec rooms and the entire mess hall had been transformed to accommodate all of the personnel who would be in attendance. It looked like New Orleans had thrown up all over the place. Bones didn't want to question where Jim had gotten ahold of nearly three hundred hand grenade cups.

Bones spent all but an hour of his shift arranging hangover cures, bags of fluids, and everything else the crew would need after a night of drunken nonsense. He could hardly believe that they were about to do this on a military vessel—a flagship, for Christ's sake—but considering what Starfleet had let them get away with so far, it wasn't worth it to really worry.

Jim bounded into Bones's room after shift was over, having already changed into civvies. He shoved a mask at Bones and said, "Just so that we're on the same page, I have no solid plans about where I'll be sleeping tonight."

"You could at least try to follow some of the rules, just to see what happens," Bones grumbled as he pulled on a clean shirt.

"Hey, regulations clearly state that I can have a sexual relationship with any of my senior officers," Jim protested.

"Who are you thinking," Bones asked incredulously. "Even if they weren't together, Spock and Uhura would sooner throw themselves out the air lock, and I'm pretty sure that Sulu and Chekov have something going on."

"You should see them making puppy dog eyes at their stations. It's adorable," Jim commented.

"I'd say that you might have a shot at a threesome with Scotty and Gaila, but Gaila's not in senior staff," Bones continued. "But knowing her, she's probably be okay for just watching."

"She would think it was hot," Jim agreed.

"And since I think I can safely assume that you don't want anything to do with your head of security," Bones said, and they both shuddered at the thought of Cupcake in any sort of a sexual situation. "You've pretty much got nothing."

But then Jim just grinned coyly and batted his big, blue eyes up at Bones. It took him a couple of seconds longer to interpret the look than it should have. Bones just scoffed and pushed Jim so that he tripped over a chair. "Foul play," Jim called as he scrambled back up to his feet to follow Bones out the door.

The next morning, Bones estimated that seven-eighths of the crew didn't wake up in their proper quarters, and most of those who did had company. Spock was still a bit drunk when Bones passed him and Uhura on his way down to the sickbay. They had procured a small bottle of chocolate liquor for the Vulcan, and when that ran out, they had just shoved a bottle of chocolate syrup at him. "Dammit, Spock, stop biting me," Uhura complained, and Bones only just heard as they walked around a corner Spock's rebuttal of, "But the color of your skin would indicate that it is made from chocolate."

Bones grinned through his headache when he heard the sound of skin slapping skin.

There was a line out the sickbay doors waiting for medical attention. Bones sent M'Benga to set up IVs for all those who were dehydrated, put a few nurses on patching up the results of drunken clumsiness, and settled himself in to give an upwards of two hundred shots.

Around ten-hundred hours, Chapel shuffled into the sickbay. She pushed past the line, reached around Bones and grabbed a loaded hypospray. She administered the shot and leaned against the shelf while it took affect. She was silent for a few moments before saying, "And now I know how it feels to throw up pineapple chunks."

Bones couldn't help the pleased smirk that stretched his lips. If there were two things in this world that Leonard Horatio McCoy could do, it was medicine and mix drinks. "Yeah," he said, "I had those soaking in vodka for about thirty-six hours."

"Outstanding," Chapel said, popping off the shelf and walking over to check out the drunken injury patients.


	6. Chapter 6

Gaila had taken an instant liking to Chief Engineer Scott. He was a brilliant man, and he had an adorable—albeit difficult to understand—accent. She enjoyed working with him. He was stimulating for reasons other than sex. Yes, she did think about things other than sex every once and a while, thankyouverymuchNyota.

He was very helpful in teaching her all the Terran customs that Nyota and Jim had overlooked back at the Academy. One of her favorites was the card games, poker in particular. She had been nothing short of atrocious when he first started teaching her, but she was improving. Once a week or so, Scotty hosted poker nights down in engineering. Mostly, it was a within the department sort of event, but sometimes Jim or Bones would drop in.

Because they were all so much better at the game than she, Gaila had learned a few tricks to even the playing ground. One of the most advantageous was to not let herself get drunk. Poker nights were not complete without Scotty's moonshine—which packed a bigger wallop than anything else any of the crew had ever gotten their hands on—and Gaila had a tendency to get a little silly when she was drunk. So, it was best for her to limit herself and let the others get carried away.

Of course, this method didn't work with Scotty. The man's liver was made from titanium. He could drink the entire crew under the table and then jump up to go recalibrate the warp drives, whistling a merry tune as he went about his way. No, Scotty required a special touch.

Ah, the wonders of a push-up bra and low cut shirt.

On one particular night, when they were down to four players—Scotty, Bones, Jim, and herself—Gaila was quite pleased with how well she had been playing. She had the lowest number of chips at the table, but she had made it to the final four.

The men filled up their glasses for another round, and Jim passed out the cards. In their usual show of bravado, the men went around placing high bets, but Gaila was more cautious. "Hand me two there, lad," Scotty said, plopping down two unwanted cards.

"Four, Jim," Bones said.

"Sucky hand," Jim teased the doctor. "Just give it up, old man."

"Ain't over till it's over, kid," Bones countered.

"How about you, Gaila," Jim asked. Gaila was still studying her cards, trying to determine the likelihood of drawing a straight if she discarded two unwanted cards.

"Hang on, I'm thinking," she said.

"You're holding up the game," Jim whined, and Bones reached over and swatted the back of his head.

"Give the little lady a minute," Bones snapped. Jim pouted at him.

Gaila considered. She had a 2, 3, 4, 10, and a queen. What would be her best bet? Which would be the most likely hand? And how did all the hands go again? She sometimes still had to ask. Wasn't there something when you had all of the same suite?

Gaila stopped for a moment and peeked over her cards. Jim and Bones were only paying her half attention, too engrossed with their own squabble. Scotty was staring right at her, and it would have seemed as it he were waiting patiently for her to make her decision if it weren't for the fact that he was staring blatantly at her chest.

"Scotty," she reprimanded—mostly just for appearances. "Stop staring at my boobs. I can't concentrate."

Scotty scoffed. "Well, how do you think I feel?"

Jim and Bones both laughed loudly as Gaila considered this. "Fair enough," she relented.

"Don't act all innocent with me, lassie," he muttered into his drink. Gaila grinned coyly. Armed with the knowledge that tonight was poker night, she may or may not have made it a point to accentuate the serious amount of leg that her uniform allowed her to show off whenever Scotty was in sight. He saw right through her, but that had never stopped Gaila before. But she wasn't cruel. She'd reward him for being a good sport when they went to bed.


	7. Chapter 7

Nobody liked diplomatic meetings. Even Spock seemed to find them boring, not that anyone could tell from the way he sat with rigid attention and focused eyes. To gage Spock's emotions, one needed to spend time with him and come to recognize when he had a certain air about him. Other than that, the only indications were what his eyebrows were doing.

Jim was not as talented as his first officer in feigning interest in the dry, long-winded diplomats. Sometimes he wished a member of his party would accidentally do something offensive to local customs just so that _something_ would happen.

He wasn't alone in his misery. The particular mission in question involved a medical treaty, and so Bones was being forced to attend. He and Nyota, who would also be going down to make sure no one made an ass of themselves by butchering the native speech, were sitting in the mess and lamenting the hours that were to be wasted. They were also coming up with all the creative things they would rather be doing than beaming down for treaty talk.

Just as Nyota was spinning a tale of running an obstacle course dressed in a banana suit, Jim, flanked on either side by Sulu and Chekov, slammed his hands down on the tabletop. "I have devised a cunning plan to make this meeting not suck," he declared.

While Bones was recovering from a small heart attack, Nyota arched a delicate brow and asked, "And what would that be, Captain?" Hm, that would be the captain that really meant moron. Jim resisted the urge to huff. He didn't need hers or Bones's approval, but he felt they deserved to hear just how much of a genius he was.

"Okay, brace yourselves," Jim said, holding up his hands to signify just how astounding this was. "We're gonna get drunk."

Nyota's expression didn't change, and now Bones was staring up at him, his face a mirror of hers. They looked thoroughly unimpressed. Whatever, Jim knew brilliance when he saw it.

"Is that your solution to life in general," Nyota asked.

Jim almost stuck his tongue out at her. "I would like to point out the number of drinks you were ordering the first time I met you," he said. She narrowed her eyes just slightly.

"Jim, you can't show up to a diplomatic talk slopping drunk," Bones said. "And you can't waltz in there with a bottle of booze either."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, my friend," Jim said. "I can just waltz in with all the alcohol I want, and no one would be any the wiser."

"So I suppose a handle wouldn't catch anyone's notice," Bones commented dryly.

"I'm glad you brought that up, Bones," Jim said with a grin. "You see, Command is amazing at hiding liquor. Like, right now, Chekov may or may not have a bottle of vodka down his pants."

Chekov beamed. "Smuggling was invented in Russia. I am very good at this."


	8. Chapter 8

Sometimes it weirded Scotty out just a little bit that Gaila used to have a thing with the captain. It wasn't that he begrudged her having past relationships, because he'd certainly had them too, and Scotty tried not to be too hypocritical. And it wasn't that Gaila's relationship with Jim had been more of a friends with benefits type of deal. Again, he'd had those, and Gaila and Jim both were very sexual creatures.

It was just when they would talk about all of their past romps that got to him a little. And they seemed to really like talking about it over dinner.

They were currently regaling each other with the first time they had integrated food into their fun. Scotty had long since lost his appetite. Bones was still eating, and it almost looked like he was successfully ignoring them if not for the twitch around his left eye. Spock and Nyota had walked up to the table with their trays, caught wind of the topic of conversation, and swiftly turned on their heels to head for the other side of the mess hall.

When Jim started to say something about cherries, Scotty couldn't take it any more. "Must ye two always talk about this," he asked desperately.

"Yes," Bones said dryly. "They can't help it. It's a mental defect."

Jim had the decency to look a little ashamed—not much, but a little. "Aw, sorry, Scotty, Didn't mean to work you up. I promise, it's not a big deal," he said.

Gaila rested a hand lightly on his arm. "That's right. Jim has always been a much better friend for me than he would have ever been a boyfriend."

Jim made a sound of protest.

Gaila turned to placate him too. "Not that the sex wasn't spectacular," she said.

Jim breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief. "You almost scared my big buddy there. Actually, I like to call him—"

"Edward the Third," Gaila provided. "I know."

"The whole damned universe knows," Bones grumbled.


	9. Chapter 9

Sometimes, being the captain of a starship was extremely hard work. Being the captain of a Federation flagship was even more so. Jim had known there were would be paperwork when he got started on the Command track, but he hadn't anticipated the sheer amount of it all. There were mountains of PADDs to go through, hundreds of notices from Starfleet to read and sign. It was all some form of maddening torture, and he was growing suspicious that his yeoman Janice Rand was some sort of sadist. She liked hunting him down to sign forms far too much.

And then there was the matter of deaths on away missions. Some part of Jim's mind had known that it would happen. Accidents happened, ambushes happened, betrayals happened. But Jim didn't believe in no-win scenarios. He had thought that if he just did what he did best, his teams would remain intact throughout the entire five-years.

The first time one of his security personnel had been killed had been a real eye-opener. Before that, no one under his command had ever even been injured. Of course, he blamed himself. If he had been more aware, better at his job, then he wouldn't have to send home a body to a grieving mother. Bones had pulled him out of the slump with no small amount of effort.

And although it was things like the deaths and the paperwork that were the most taxing, there was also the problem of Starfleet breathing down their necks. It was an odd system. Jim could get away with things like throwing massive parties in between missions or renting out a laser tag room—things that were so far off the charts of what was considered appropriate military behavior—but when it came time to do the real job, the job that his people had proven when they were more than capable of when they were still cadets—the admiralty questioned their capacity to handle things.

Jim's crew had already done more—faced more—than people half their age. Jim was the youngest captain in Federation history, and he hadn't gotten that honor by sitting on his ass whistling Dixie.

Yeah, okay, they could be a little immature sometimes, but they were tough, smart, and determined. They were the best crew in the fleet, so far as Jim was concerned. Besides, if Spock, who was having a love affair with logic and rational thinking and was one of the biggest buzzkills Jim knew, could sanction the juvenile shenanigans that Jim led the crew on, then the admiralty could just stuff it.

Still, it could all lead a man to really need a drink. "Have you ever looked at the seven-hundred milliliter bottle of wine on the seat next to you knowing that it's just not going to be enough," he asked aloud on the bridge. It was a rhetorical question, not one he really expected anyone to answer, just to nod in agreement too.

But then, from the communications console, came the longsuffering answer. "Each and every day."

* * *

I know, this one isn't really funny, but it sort of wrote itself. Sorry it just sort of ends.


	10. Chapter 10

Cinco de Mayo was really just an excuse to break out the blenders and drink margaritas. And fuck if Nyota had ever said no to a margarita before. She and Gaila wasted no time in digging out the foot wide plastic margarita glasses that they had brought back from a spring break trip down to Cozumel during their junior year at the Academy. It might have been a little inappropriate to bring them up on a starship, but, hell, they were proof positive that the two girls had survived the week.

As was usual for the themed parties held on the ship, the rec rooms were decorated to the nines with piñatas and other festive bits and pieces. Also as usual, no one questioned where and how Jim had gotten ahold of all the decorations. Nyota mused that if Starfleet hadn't worked out for him, Jim would have had a successful career as an event planner.

"I don't know that it's healthy for any species to eat that much cheese," Bones said, eyes wide as he stared at Gaila. Nyota laughed. Gaila's discovery of chips and queso during their first year at the Academy had been a bit disturbing. Gaila loved the snack. She couldn't get enough of it. It really was unfair how much of it she could put back without getting sick or gaining a pound.

"She's fine," Nyota assured him.

"No, really," Bones said. "I feel like I should go grab a hypo or two."

Form the other end of the room, there was a large bang, and Sulu bellowed triumphantly as a piñata burst and showered the floor with tiny plastic bottles of tequila. "Sweet," he cried. "I love big kid parties."

Nyota downed the rest of her margarita and swatted Gaila's arm. "I need to go to the bathroom. Come with me. You too, Christine," she added.

Gaila looked up and glared at Nyota, her cheeks full of chips. Christine asked, "Isn't it a little early to be breaking the seal?"

"I don't concern myself with seals," she said. "Now, Gaila!"

"Can I bring it with me," the Orion asked.

Nyota made a face, and Christine said, "God, you're such a man." Gaila shrugged and stood, bringing a small bowl and handful of chips with her.

From beside Bones, Spock commented, "I do not understand this custom of human females all journeying to the waste facilities at the same time."

"They like to travel in herds," Bones said.

Nyota whirled and said, "Hey, I don't think you appreciate how difficult it is to pee in a poncho." Both men eyed the overlarge blue striped poncho she had lifted from Jim sometime before. It completely swallowed her small frame.

"Okay, that makes sense, but you don't always have that poncho to hide behind," Bones called after their retreating forms.

The rest of the night went by in a blur of tequila shots. Bones was vaguely aware of making it back to his rooms, Jim slung over his back. Bringing the fool back to his own rooms and crashing there would have probably been a better choice, what with Jim having more space, but Bones didn't think straight on tequila. Instead, he just dumped Jim onto his couch and stumbled over to his bed.

The next morning, he woke up to Jim curled around him. He reached over for the hangover cure he had strategically left on his bedside table and administered it to himself. Almost immediately, the pounding in his head subsided and the cotton feeling in his mouth went away. Knowing that there would be plenty of others who would be heading down to medical, Bones tried to detangle himself from Jim's hold. Jim just grunted in his sleep and latched on tighter.

"Jim, let go," Bones growled. "I've got work to do today, and so do you."

Jim muttered something that sounded a bit like "No, I don't get highlights." Bones rolled his eyes and pushed back hard enough to jerk Jim awake. Jim blinked sleep from his eyes and looked around. "I don't wanna," he whined, and buried his face into Bones's neck.

"Dammit, Jim, I leave you on my couch for a reason," he grumbled.

Jim laughed a bit. "I like how we always do that. Go to sleep in different places and wake up spooning. Alcohol truly is the anti-cockblock."

"It's only an anti-cockblock if those in question got any action," Bones said. "Now, up!"

"Fine, fine," Jim grumbled. "I need a hangover cure, but don't stab me with—OW!" He glared, and Bones tossed the used hypo into a waste bin. Jim scooted off the bed, rubbing his neck and muttering, "You say I've got an oral fixation. Well, you've got a stabby, thrusty fixation."

"Go get changed, Jim," Bones said, ignoring his friend's complaints and heading into his bathroom.

"I don't have any clothes over here," Jim asked.

"I sent them to laundry yesterday," Bones answered.

Jim pouted and went to collect his boots. He shoved them on and picked up his sombrero. He looked around the couch and then frowned, remembering that Nyota had stolen his poncho. Well, at least he had the hat. Shoving it on his head, he called back into the bathroom, "See you at breakfast." Bones let out a muffled grunt of agreement, and Jim headed out to his own quarters.

On the way up to his deck, he passed Janice and Christine. "Oh, look, Janice," Christine said. "It's the ever elusive and rare male Walk of Shame."

"He gave up shame for Lent, and then decided to just make it a lifestyle," Janice commented.

"Don't knock it till you try it," Jim advised, breezing past them.

When he sat across the table from Bones in the mess, after the small fight trying to keep his bacon out of the doctor's reach, Jim said, "I'm pretty sure the whole ship thinks we're fucking."

"So did everyone at the Academy," Bones said. "Nothing new there."

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "But man, the Walk of Shame had never felt more glorious, even without the actual acts to cause said shame. I think it was the sombrero."


	11. Chapter 11

Bones thought it was a little juvenile that Jim wanted to go camping down on the planet they were currently in orbit around. "Look, Bones, it says right here that the forests of Centauri Six are excellent for hiking and camping," Jim said, shoving a brochure—where he found it, Bones didn't care to know—under his nose.

"Didn't you get your fix of doing that stuff when you were a kid," Bones asked.

"There are no forests in Iowa. There is only corn," Jim said. "I want to camp in a forest."

And really, that was all it took. Because somehow Jim always got his way. And he managed to rope several malcontents along for the ride.

Their group consisted of the usual suspects. Jim was bouncing all over the trails as they walked towards the campgrounds, Bones a step behind him, grumbling about pollens and bugs and dirt. Spock was busy taking scans of various flora and fauna that they passed, the occasional "Fascinating" muttered under his breath. Chapel, Uhura, and Gaila had all managed to round up matching pairs of short khaki pants and archaic plaid patterned shirts. Apparently late 20th century vintage was in vogue now. Sulu and Chekov walked with the cooler of food between them, and Scotty brought up the rear, carrying a large case of his moonshine.

It was a small nightmare setting up camp. They were using old-fashioned tents, rather than the simple ones where you just pressed a button and the thing set itself up. Bones finally pushed Spock, Chekov and Scotty out of the way and did the thing himself. He'd often gone camping with his father and grandfather as a child, both of whom thought it was a skill a man should have to know how to set up a tent. Thank God the others at least knew how to start up a fire. Bones might have thrown himself down the mountain if they had tried using greenwood.

The women fished out the folding chairs from the packs and set them in a circle around the fire pit. Sulu set up their musical entertainment, and Scotty was quick to break out the hooch.

Spock wanted to continue his nature exploration, and Uhura insisted that Gaila and Bones come along with them. Jim, Scotty, and Chapel had already called cooking duty, and Bones noticed that Chekov and Sulu had conveniently disappeared somewhere. As if listening to Spock drone on about the _fascinating life cycles of the indigenous mandibulata_ wasn't torture enough, Uhura refused to allow him to bring some of Scotty's moonshine along. Bones failed to see how his drinking to drown out Spock's voice would be considered rude.

Four hours and roughly seventy-six bug bites later, the nature hikers stumbled back into camp. Those lucky assholes that had managed to avoid the trip were all sitting around the fire, laughing merrily as they drank. Bones stormed over, dropped down moodily into a chair and grabbed a mason jar of moonshine, which he fully intended to keep completely to himself and drink straight. His liver was already doomed. It wouldn't protest this latest assault.

The sky above their heads—what little that could been seen in the gaps between the limbs of the tall, pine-like trees—was a brilliant blaze of orange when Jim and Chapel passed around bowls of food. Bones accepted his. It smelled good. He dropped in a spoon, scooping out some and stopped.

"What the hell is this," he asked.

Chapel fixed him with an irritated frown, but Jim's expression was a bit more patient. "Chili, Bones," he said slowly, as if talking to a child. "We discussed this, and you said it was good camping food."

"This has beans in it," Bones said.

"Yeah," Jim said, fishing out a PADD. "That's what this recipe said."

Knowing that this was the first time that Jim had ever tried to cook a chili, Bones overlooked the use of a recipe. One had to start somewhere. But the use of beans was just unacceptable. He pushed the bowl over to Gaila, who had already finished most of her portion. "Got anything else in that cooler," he asked.

"Why won't you eat it," Jim asked, affronted. "I spent good time making it."

"It's got beans in it," Bones repeated. "I don't eat chili with beans in it. That's Yankee chili."

"What," Jim asked incredulously. He rolled his eyes. "Yankees, seriously? What year is it again, Bones?"

Bones pulled out some rolled up lunchmeat from the cooler and snatched a few crackers from Uhura. "A man's got to have a code, and mine is simple. I won't swim in no Yankee ocean, and I won't eat no Yankee chili."

"Yankee ocean," Sulu asked. "What the hell is a Yankee ocean?"

"The Atlantic," Bones answered.

Jim made a face and said, "Dude, Bones, you're from Georgia."

"Yes, that's an astounding observation."

"I know for a fact, because I'm a good listener—" This earned a loud snort from Uhura. "—that you used to go to the beach with your family. Explain that. Did you just sit in the sand like a boring old man?" Then, under his breath, he added, "Wouldn't surprise me."

"Florida," Bones said. "Gulf side."

"Why would you go all the way down there when the Atlantic was pretty much across the street," Chapel asked.

"Because I don't swim in no Yankee ocean," Bones repeated.

"To refer to the Atlantic Ocean as a Yankee ocean based on the fact that it forms the coasts of several northern states is illogical," Spock said. "The Atlantic Ocean also touches Virginia and both Carolinas, states which are considered part of the United States Old South, former members of the Confederate States of America."

"Spock, don't bog down this debate with facts," Bones snapped. Spock arched a brow.

They tried to argue with him more, but Bones was a crotchety Southerner. He did not back down, and even Vulcan patience and irrefutable logic couldn't make headway against him.

"What now," Gaila asked sometime later. "Are there certain activities that must be accomplished on a camping trip?"

"Not really," Jim said. "We just kind of hang out."

"We could tell ghost stories," Sulu suggested.

"Or sing songs," Chapel added. A few others offered her odd looks. "I'm talking drunken karaoke, people."

Jim grinned. "We could get high," he said, pulling out a bag of weed from his pocket.

"Where did you get that," Bones asked suspiciously.

"From the medicinal supply on the ship," Jim said unashamed.

He started to take some out, and Uhura blanched. "No," she said, drawing out the word "No, no, no, no, no, no." She looked around the edges of the campsite nervously.

"What the hell's wrong with you," Jim asked.

Uhura formed an X shape with her two forefingers, holding it out as though to ward away the grass. Gaila patted her shoulder sympathetically. "The one time Nyota got high, she was scared of trees," the Orion explained.

"You saw their bark," Uhura exclaimed. "All peeling, and those leaves were reaching for me. They wanted to get me! And I couldn't find you because you're the same color."

"Yes, I know," Gaila said patiently.

* * *

A word from the wise: I am Bones in this story, except more irritable. Camping with people who have never camped before is hell. On the last one I went on, it was for a geology field trip. We were going to be sleeping outside, but the department didn't have any camping equipment for us to use, so we had to hunt down our own tents and sleeping bags (never mind that all that junk is expensive, and some people need that money for living). We were going to be gone for two days and when I asked the professor what we'd be doing for food, he literally said, "Oh, yeah, I guess we're going to need that, huh?" Seriously? I don't know how this one worked out, but no one else had a cooler. I had been under the impression that it was law for all college students to own coolers (personally, I have no less than 12 in my garage). And then the other people in the class thought that you could just rip sticks off trees to burn. No, greenwood does not burn. It smokes. Thankfully the campsite had little grills, but no one else knew how to light coals or had ever cooked on a grill before. So it was all left to me. I mean, really people? But on the bright side, that meant I was put on cooking duty for all the future field trips, so I never had to clean up anything. None of this is exaggeration, and it was so frustrating being there. And a little tid-bit about me is that I never go anywhere without makeup. I don't need to cake it on, but in the least I do a foundation, mascara, and lip gloss. And those people had the gall to tell me I was being dumb for doing that on a camping trip. Poo on them.


	12. Chapter 12

Just because it was a simple away mission to collect data on indigenous life on the small planet didn't mean that Bones wasn't wary. In fact, he was more alert than usual. It was always on the missions where it seemed that nothing could go wrong that everything went to hell in a hand basket.

The science officers were crawling all over the place, beside themselves at the sight of some new prickle bush. Bones failed to see the interest. The thing was probably bursting with some kind of poison that boiled blood or a pollen that ate flesh. Such was their luck.

Spock was popping around with more energy than Bones had ever seen. He was completely enamoured with these new discoveries, muttering longwindedly under his breath. Bones just stood with a hypo in his hand, ready as he could be for whatever shit this planet decided to throw at them.

At Spock's louder than usual proclamation of "Fascinating," Jim grinned and motioned towards the Vulcan with his head. He and Bones walked off to find the first officer. Bones bitched as they scurried up and over a log, dropping down in mud on the other side.

"What'd you got, Mr. Spock," Jim asked.

Spock glanced up from where he was crouching next to a packed down heap of leaves and twigs. There were a few rodent skeletons littering the area, along with broken shards of what might have once been eggs. As Spock began some shpeal about the layout of the nest, other science officers began to loiter.

"This is most interesting, Captain," Spock went on. "You will notice the markings that have been left on this section of fallen bork tree. Whatever creature did this had enormous claws, similar to that of large Terran predatory aves, such as the eagles. But this creature's size if significantly larger."

"Great," Bones muttered. "Ok, everyone, we're looking for Big Bird."

"Please, doctor," Spock said. "That is illogical. The character of Big Bird is simply a fictional character created in the twentieth century as a means to educate young Terrans through a television program."

Bones narrowed his eyes. He had a daughter. He knew what Big Bird was.

Spock turned back towards the marks that had been left in the wood. "Perhaps a pterodactyl," he muttered. Jim looked around the forest, squinting up into the trees. The look on his face clearly indicated that his thoughts on finding an animal resembling the extinct pterosaur could be summed up with a single word: awesome.

A search of the area wielded no results, and Jim was nearly as disappointed as the science team. Scotty sent them a message with a warning that a storm was coming their way, the scanners indicating that it would hit within ten minutes.

Jim called for the team's attention. "OK, people, you have five minutes. You better wrap that shit up."

Bones rolled his eyes, and Spock's brow gave that odd little twitch that was reserved solely for his exasperation with the captain. "I believe what the Captain means to say is that we will be beaming up to the ship in five minutes, so please come to a finishing point in your scans and collections."


	13. Chapter 13

Jim was nothing short of a magnificent thrower of parties, but when he teamed up with Gaila, they became a force so powerful that there were no words to describe the aftermath. Chekov was turning eighteen, and Jim refused to let such an event pass by without celebration. Gaila was the first to jump on the boat, as she had adopted the youngest crewmember within thirty seconds of meeting him. Sulu, resident best friend—and possible crush, if rumors could be believed—was also throwing in his input.

As they went through the final motions of preparations, Bones had to wonder where Gaila had found the stripper. He didn't recognize him from the crew roster. Chekov was required to take at least eighteen shots as the night progressed, and when he showed up to the rec room already swaying, Bones was sure the kid had started while still on shift. He couldn't be positive, but Bones was sure such things would be frowned upon on other ships.

Chekov was given a paper crown and sash with the words "birthday boy" in bold letters. He claimed that in Russia it was a tradition for the guest of honor to receive kisses from all the women. Bones was sure that was horseshit, but his opinion went unheard, and Chekov's face was quickly littered with lipstick.

The gifts that Chekov was showered with mostly included porn and gift cards to stores that catered to the adult crowd, along with what amounted to a fully stocked vodka bar and a lone bottle of scotch from Scotty.

The next morning, Jim came down to the sickbay for a hangover cure. While he was there, Bones proceeded to stab him with various other hyposprays that the captain had been putting off. "You like stabbing me," Jim complained. "I'm serious, this is getting to be an issue. It's innuendo, isn't it? You're dirtier than you want anyone to know."

"Jim, stop being an infant," Bones said, loading up a new hypo. If he'd heard Jim say all this once, he'd heard it a million times.

"All I'm saying is that there are better things that you could be stabbing me with—OW! Dammit, you're going in too hard."

"That's what she said," Chapel supplied from across the room.

"Thank you, Christine," Jim called back. "That was lovely." She flashed him a thumbs up before continuing her inventory of supplies as if nothing had happened. "She's good at that. Now, where was I," Jim asked. "Oh, yeah, everyone thinks we're boning—haha, Bones boning—anyway, so why not just turn this stabbing fixation you've got into something that we can both enjoy?"

It wasn't another full minute before Bones was chasing Jim from the sickbay, threatening all sorts of ancient medical horrors. Sulu and Riley stood wide-eyed on the other side of the doors, Chekov supported between them. "Um, this a bad time, doctor," Sulu asked.

Bones frowned at Jim's retreating back and said, "No, I'm just screaming at the captain. I can do that anytime. What's the problem?"

"Well," Sulu said, "you remember last night when Pavel pushed the stripper off the pole and took over the dancing?" Bones nodded (again, shouldn't this be considered inappropriate behavior on a starship?). "And how he fell off and hit his head real good?" Bones nodded again.

"Well, he may have a concussion," Riley said. "But the symptoms are the same as hangover, so we can't tell."

"Best eighteenth ever," Chekov slurred.


End file.
